


I couldn't loose you

by Coalmine301



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Explosion, Amputation via bomb, Gen, Maybe OOC, Near Death Experiences, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:33:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23717494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coalmine301/pseuds/Coalmine301
Summary: “Padawan.”Obi-wan might have jumped a little at that voice. A voice he hadn’t heard in so long yet he knew as well as his own.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 99





	I couldn't loose you

Where was he?

All around him was simply a void of white. White like dove’s wings. White like fresh snow. White like the shining face of a moon yet to experience its first crater. It all felt so clean. Heavenly.

“Padawan.”

Obi-wan might have jumped a little at that voice. A voice he hadn’t heard in so long yet he knew as well as his own.

There stood Qui-gon Jinn, just as Obi-wan had remembered him. Well, maybe not quite. His face was smoother than he’d seen it, long hair almost completely free of silver. He looked... young. Heathy.

“Master?” Obi-wan asked tentatively. The redhead inwardly winced, was his voice always that coarse?

The Master didn’t seem to mind, a warm smile spreading across his kind features. “It’s been quite a while. Hasn’t it, Padawan?” 

And boy has it been. Eleven whole years since Obi-wan had heard his father’s kind voice, since he had felt a large, strengthening hand on his shoulder. 

He had craved it as much as breathing. He had wanted it more than air in the tortured months after the man’s death. And now that he had it once more he savored it.

“Master, wh-where are we?” Obi-Wan asked again. Was his voice rougher now? 

He had the distinct feeling that something bad had happened, yet he couldn’t for the life of him remember what. He felt someone was looking for him, screaming his name, though he couldn’t remember who. Were there multiple someones?

Qui-gon easily put all his worries to ease with a hearty chuckle. Oh, it had been even longer since he had heard that beautiful sound.

The taller man put his hand on Obi-wan’s shoulder and the redhead leaned into it a little. His whole body cried out with delight at the touch. His heart screamed with joy, he didn’t realise how bad he’d been missing this simple action until it had been ripped away forever. And now that it had returned he remembered just how good it felt.

“You are at peace,” the voice rumbled.

Sudden alarm tore through Obi-wan’s whole being. The redhead took a stunned couple of steps back, the large hand falling limply from his shoulder.

“Am I… dead?”

Qui-Gon only looked at him with kind, sad eyes. “Oh, little one,” he rumbled. He always rumbled, a deep calming noise that did nothing to ease Obi-wan’s steadily growing fear. “Not yet, though you will be soon.”

“They’re looking for me,” he breathed. He didn’t know how he knew. 

His stomach suddenly clenched at the thought of others finding him, of grabbing hands ripping him away from this place. Away from Qui-Gon.

No, he’d lost his father before. He couldn’t do it again. He wouldn’t!

Serenely, Qui-Gon extended out a large palm, Obi-wan took a moment to stare at the appendage. It was as large and inviting as he remembered it to be. Only now it was free of the saber calluses and grime under the nails he had remembered so vividly. Was this truly Qui-Gon’s hand.

“We can go now,” the taller man rumbled, voice so calm and kind. “They don’t have to find you.”

And Obi-wan wanted to go with him. He wanted to throw himself against the broad, powerful chest like a padawan again. He wanted to feel his father’s strong, protecting arms wrap around him and pull him close in a hug.

But there was something holding him back. Something tugging, yanking, on their connection. Something screaming for him to stay, to come back.

Come back where?

Qui-Gon noticed his hesitation, deep blue eyes shining with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Obi-wan admitted. “Someone’s calling me. They need me.”

He scanned the area around them, hoping for a clue about this mysterious person’s identity. Wait, did the white get just a touch darker now?

Now those deep blue eyes, eyes that were his everything, were filled with sadness. Sympathetic sadness. For whoever was crying out for his last apprentice. Mourning him.

Oh. Obi-wan hadn't really thought of that. He never really expected to be mourned. He never really planned on dying. 

But more than that he wasn’t sure why they’d me mourning him of all people.

“There will be another,” Qui-Gon replied. He held his hand out a little more, beckoning him without moving a finger. “All you have to do is take my hand. We can be one with the Force. Together.”

And how badly he wanted it, craved it. And yet Obi-wan hesitated. 

And as he did the Force suddenly cried out. The redhead staggered, emotions ripping through him at a terrifying pace. Fear, guilt, determination, desperation.

And then a voice called out.

“Master!”

Obi-wan might have jumped a little at that voice. A voice he was infinitely familiar with, a voice he should have known the name to. And yet… he didn’t.

He turned to see a man there, blue eyes wide with a fierce emotion. Dark brown-blonde hair fell around his face, a vicious scar dangerously close to his right eye.

Right away the redhead could tell this man did not belong here. He could only see part of the younger man’s frame as if he were leaning in through a doorway. The rest was fading away, obscured by the omnipresent white.

“Obi-wan, take my hand!” the man shouted. He stuck his arm out, as far as it could go, and Obi-wan could see it ended in a metal hand. He knew he should know about that, he knew that day haunted him, yet he couldn’t remember why nor what had happened.

“Obi-wan?” The other voice asked, offering still held out. The voice that was calm and comforting, the opposite of the younger man’s behind him. 

Speaking of the other man… his eyes widened as they caught sight of Qui-Gon standing behind the redhead. Their blazing depths echoed with… horror? No, that couldn’t be right. Why would anyone fear seeing Qui-Gon?

“Master, don’t listen to him,” the man called out, eyes shining with unshed tears. “Please, we still need you. I still need you, Obi-wan!”

Master? Did he train a padawan. No. No, that couldn’t be right. He’d make a terrible mentor, the Council must have been fools to entrust him with the care of a child. Especially after Qui-Gon…

“They will recover, they always do,” Qui-Gon rumbled soothingly. “Take your peace. You’ve earned it. All you have to do is take my hand.”

Right, the hand. Obi-wan took a moment to stare at it, admire its comforting beauty but also its immense strength. It was calling to him, begging for him to place his much smaller hand in the great lion’s paw. 

His own hand moved without command, reaching up from where it lay limp at his side to move for his father’s welcoming grasp.

Before he could get there, however, there was a distraught cry from behind him. He barely had time to glance over his shoulder before the man was upon him. Strong, muscled arms wrapped around him in a grasp that fell somewhere between a hug and a tackle. His momentum carried them forward and as Obi-wan fell his world dissolved around him.

Where was he?

All around him were harsh shapes of black and brown and… red? It was so dark compared to the place he had just been. Smoke filled the air. Voices and screams echoed harshly from all sides. It all felt so dirty. Hellish.

He couldn't feel his legs. Why couldn’t he feel his legs?!

Perhaps because now there were no legs to feel.

“Master,” a face loomed over him, blue eyes wide and shining with concern and fear. 

Anakin! The name came to him instantly. The name of his brother and former padawan. The name of the man he had seen grow from a shy slave boy to one of the most powerful Jedi in the order. Perhaps the most powerful one.

Obi-wan gradually became more aware of his surroundings. He was laying on his back, body racked with pain. Debris lay on all sides, even… above him? He could feel something cool and liquid, could feel it spreading.

“What… happened?” He asked. His voice was rough and coarse as Tatooine-spun cotton. The words seemed to be made of it as they crawled their way out of his throat.

“There was a bomb at the Senate building,” Anakin explained. He was trying valiantly to stay brave yet his voice trembled and shook. “You got buried, Master. We- it took us a while to dig you out.”

A wet cloth was laid against his forehead and he looked up to see Padme just above him there. Her eyes were full of tears, spilling down her cheeks. 

He scared her, Obi-wan realized. She had been scared for him. So had Anakin if the barely dried tear marks trailing down his face gave an indication. 

“The Senate?” he echoed Anakin’s words. There had been an attack on the Senate. An attack that had been made with the intent to kill. Immediately he made a move to sit up, ignoring both observers' cries of protest. 

“Is anyone hu-Aeughh!” His words turned to a pained cry as agony ripped through his whole body. 

As Anakin gently pushed him back down Obi-wan finally saw the jagged shard of metal punching up through his abdomen. In his defense, its dark coloring blended in with his former padawn’s wardrobe rather well.

The redhead couldn’t help but let out a small whimper as he was lowered back down. A tear or two may have slipped from clenched shut lids. Had he had the strength for it he would have been mortified. As is, he just focused his strength on staying conscious.

Padme’s gentle fingers ran through his hair and he drew what comfort he could from the kind gesture.

“It’s ok, Master,” Anakin’s soothing voice said. “It’s going to be ok.”


End file.
